


Lessons In Love

by badskippy



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Dorks in Love, Falling In Love, First Love, Idiots in Love, M/M, Older Man/Younger Man, Sneaky Thorin, Teacher!Bilbo, True Love, Unrequited Love, Young!Thorin, older!bilbo, student!Thorin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-17 23:03:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15472074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badskippy/pseuds/badskippy
Summary: Thorin was just about to graduate and start university.  His whole life seemed to have played out just as it was expected.  But in his last year at school, something changed and no one can quite figure it out.  Not his father, nor his employer.  Some think his cousin Dwalin knows, but Dwalin won't talk.So what happened?  And why has Thorin developed an almost obsessive interest in history?  It can't possibly have anything to do with that new History teacher.Can it?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Neeka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neeka/gifts), [LadyLaran](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLaran/gifts), [aquileaofthelonelymountain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquileaofthelonelymountain/gifts), [ceallaig](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceallaig/gifts), [Nerdee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nerdee/gifts).



* * *

 

                  From her perfectly positioned chair in the living room, Fris Durin could hear everything she needed to; the front and the back doors – in case her ‘precious offspring’ attempt to sneak past her, the subtle steps of their young daughter upstairs – because of all her prodigy, Dis was the most like to be sneaky, and, of course, the chime of the hall-clock telling her the time her boys were coming home, late at night.

                  She could also hear her husband in the chair next to her release a heavy sigh.

                  Not even looking up from her crossword, which she was doing in pen, Fris said, “Is there a problem?”

                  “I …” Thrain sighed again.  “I don’t understand that boy of ours.”            

                  Fris smiled to herself.  “We have two, dear … would you care to be more specific?”

                  “Our eldest.”

                  _Thorin?_  Now Fris confused.  “What’s not to understand?”

                  “Who ... who is he?”

                  That made her stop.  “Whatever do you mean?”

                  “He’s become a stranger to me.”

                  “In what way?”

                  Thrain turned to his wife.  “Well ... for starters, he dresses so … sloppy.”

                  Fris grinned.  “It’s the style nowadays, love.  All the kids are into that.”

                  “And his long hair and … and _furry face_?”

                  Fris had to laugh at that.  “Again, it’s the style.  But if you ask me, he’s … rebelling against the establishment.  Very typical for a young man.   It’s no different than when we were young … you had a beard when we met at university.”

                  “But what about his performance lately?”

                  “ _Performance_?  What does _that_ mean?”

                  “In school.”

                  Fris was confused.  “He’s doing well from what I hear.”

                  “No.  I mean, last year … in six-form.  That ... _class_ he took.”

                  Fris shook her head.  “If you’re talking about Ancient History …”

                  “He didn’t have to take it!  But he did!  And then he … he failed!”

                  “He was distracted.  Many get distracted in their last year … they’re ... they’re eager to move on and start living their lives.”

                  “But what was even _the point_ in taking it?   He’d taken all the required classes ... why take it in his last year?  He took it for ... for fun, failed it, nearly ruined his GPA and almost didn’t get into university!”

                  “He was ... trying new things!”  Fris sighed.  “And nothing horrible happened.  He retook it in the summer and passed.  With flying colours no less.  He got into Erebor just as he planned.” 

                  “And now he’s working in a ... grocery!”

                  Fris rolled her eyes.  “He doesn’t need a heavy job right now.  And I agree with that, frankly.”

                  “But he always planned to work with me!”

                  “You mean, you planned that.  Did you ever ask him what he wanted?”

                  “Of course!   And he loved it ... he told me ... even in secondary when he’d pop in now and then, he was fantastic and really ... really wanted to be there.”

                  “He may still.  He’s just begun at university ... give him time to be ... _him_... to be free and discover his interests ... like ... I don’t know ... _history_!”  Fris was suspicious.  “What is this all about?  There is nothing … _strange_ or ... even unusual in his behavior.  Quite the opposite to me.”

                  Thrain opened his mouth but he hesitated, clearly reluctant to speak.  Fris knew that whatever it was, it was difficult for her husband; he normally had little trouble expressing himself.

                  Finally, Thrain deflated and said in a small voice, “I just feel like I’m losing him.”

                  Fris felt incredibly dense; she should have seen this coming.  Thrain and Thorin were so very close and loved each other dearly; they were like two peas on a pod when Thorin was growing up.  It should have been obvious to her that Thrain would feel left behind as Thorin moved into his independence.

                  “He is ... lost,” Fris said gently.  “In a way.  All young people are lost when they finally enter the world.  They need time to find themselves and where they belong. Thorin is no different, sweetheart. Give him time.”

                  Thrain nodded.  He had to know; he did know really.  “I just ...” He drew a deep breath and sighed.  “I just wish I had my little boy back.”

                  It was so touchingly bittersweet, but Fris had to be honest.  “He’s not little anymore, love.”

                  “No.  He’s not.”

 

\-----ooooo-----

 

                  Gerontius Took stood in the raised office that overlooked his store.  It was really a raised platform about three metres above the floor and was four metres square.  It had a solid wall to just above waist height and then glass above that, enclosing the area but still affording a clear view of the registers, the isles and front door.  He stood there, hands on his hips, and shook his head.  “I don’t understand that boy.”

                  Gerontius’ wife, Adamanta Chubb-Took, looked up from the receipts she counting.  “Which boy?” She got up and stood next to her husband, following his gaze.  “You mean Thorin?”

                  Gerontius sighed.  “He won’t take a break.”

                  “Why ever not?” Adamanta gave her husband a concerned look.  “How long has he been here?”

                  “Just a little over four hours.”

                  “Oh my, goodness!  Gerry Took, we don’t work our employees into the ground!”

                  “But I told him to take one and he won’t!”

                  Adamanta clucked her tongue and shook her head.  “You can’t let one of our best workers work himself in exhaustion!”

                  “I asked him to take a break.  I told him to take one.  I told him there were laws about breaks and I nearly ordered him! But he still refused.  Said he was fine and if I had to deduct the time or his pay, he was okay with that.”

                  “Well, I’m not!”  Adamanta turned on her heel and marched down the short steps to the register floor and walked over to Register Three.

                  Thorin was working steadily, quickly and efficiently. It was impossible to deny that he was faster than anyone else.   He was even faster than the Express Lane cashier, and the Express Lane had a bagger helping out; Thorin was faster even as he bagged the items all himself.

                  Adamanta adored the burly young man, but enough was enough.  “Thorin?”

                  Thorin finished bagging the groceries there and smiled at the customer.  “Thanks for shopping at Took’s!”  The lady smiled and thanked Thorin, then he turned to Adamanta.  “Yes, Missus Took?”

                  “Thorin, dear, you … you need to take a break.”

                  Thorin glanced up at the huge clock above the entrance.  “I’m fine, Missus Took.”

                  “You've been working for—”

                  “Hello.” Thorin smiled to the next customer in his line. “Did you find everything you need?”

                  “I did,” the older lady replied.

                  “Excellent!” Thorin stated.  His hands were like blurs as the machine beeped and chirped with each item passed over the label scanner. 

                  “Thorin,” Adamanta said a little more firmly.  “Take a break.  I’ll cover for you.”

                  “It’s okay, Missus T,” Thorin said, with another glance at the clock.  “You’re busy and I’m fine.”

                  “I’m not so busy that I can’t give you relief.”

                  “Really, I’m okay.”

                  “You can’t work all day without a break, Thorin. There are labor laws—”

                  “If you need to deduct money from my pay—”

                  “Money isn’t the issue, dear.  It’s about the rights of the employee and giving them rest.”

                  “But I’m not tired,” Thorin insisted and then told his customer, “Have a great day!” He immediately turned to the next customer in his line.  “Hello! Did you find everything you need?”

                  Adamanta sighed.  “Being tired is _not_ the point!”

                  “But Missus Took—”

                  “Do I hear the sounds of dissention?”  An amused voice cut across the conversation.

                  “Bilbo, my dear!” Adamanta declared.

                  “Hi, Mister Baggins!”  Thorin said, standing tall and smiling.

                  “Hello, Gran!” Bilbo said, giving his grandmother a kiss on the cheek, then turned to the burly youth behind the register, smirking, “Hello, Thorin ... are you not behaving?”

                  Thorin blushed at that.  “I’m … I’m afraid not.”

                  Adamanta laughed.  “Oh, he is, he’s just … being stubborn.”

                  “Nothing new there,” Bilbo said dryly, giving Thorin a wink and a smile.  “Behave!”

                  Thorin blushed a little deeper, smiling.  “Yes, Mister Baggins.”

                  Adamanta glanced at the big clock, then said to Bilbo, “You’re late today.”

                  Bilbo rolled his yes and shook his head.  “I had to watch over the kids in detention.”

                  “You don’t normally, do you?”

                  “No.  But the coach that does is out sick, so … I said I would.”

                  “That was nice of you.”

                  “I don’t know about nice, but I was able to get a good deal of grading done.”  Bilbo sighed. “Well … I’m off to shop.”

                  “Let me know if you don’t see what you need,” Adamanta said sweetly, then looked at Thorin.  “Now, you need to—”

                  “I’ll take a break.”

                  Adamanta was happy but a little surprised; that was a quick turnaround.  “Oh. Okay.  I’ll … cover.”  She stepped behind the register and finished checking out the customer there as Thorin took off for what she assumed was the break-room.

                 

\-----ooooo-----

                 

                  Bilbo hummed to himself as he compared to two different pastas; which did he want?  Sometimes he was in the mood for plain old spaghetti and sometimes he wanted to be a little crazy and get something fancy like Bowtie or Cavatappi or Rocchetti.         

                  “Finding everything?”

                  Bilbo startled and turned, giving Thorin a glare that had little heat.  “Don’t scare an old man like that!”

                  Thorin laughed.  “You’re not old!  But … I’m sorry if I scared you.”  However, Thorin’s smile said that he wasn’t that sorry.  “How was classes?”

                  “Oh, you know,” Bilbo said, shrugging and choosing a box of Elbow Macaroni.  “The same as yesterday … just like when you were there.  How is university going?”

                  Thorin nodded.  “Good.  I like it, but … it’s not the same.”

                  Bilbo laughed.  “I bet!  More freedom, less pressure and you sleep in late!”

                  “I take early classes, so I’m there by seven.”

                  Bilbo was surprised.  “Really?!  God, when I went to university, I didn’t take a single class before eleven a.m.!”

                  Thorin chuckled.  “I work in the afternoon, so I get them out of the way.”

                  “You were always a hard worker.   Me?  Personally, I like sleeping in!”

                  Thorin smiled, nodded.  “I’ll … I’ll remember that.”

                  “So …” Bilbo started moving down the isle and Thorin followed.  “What classes are you taking?”

                  Thorin shrugged.  “The usual right now.  Although, you’ll be happy to hear that I’m taking Humanities.”

                  “Oh, I am please!” Bilbo grinned.  “I wasn’t so sure after your rocky start in your last year if you truly enjoyed history.”

                  “That wasn’t your fault,” Thorin insisted. “That was just me … dicking around. You’re ... fantastic.”

                  Bilbo chuckled.  “I don’t know about that.  I’m still new, but … I do try.  I honestly didn’t think I’s reached you after you … you know.”

                  Thorin turned serious.  “I failed because I didn’t focus.  I played around.  It wasn’t you.  You made the classes … wonderful.”

                  “I’m glad if that’s how you feel.  Even if you had to repeat it.”

                  “Nah.  Don’t worry about that.  You’re … awesome.”

                  Both stood there, the compliments hanging between them until Thorin broke the silence.

                  “Well, I … I need to get back.”

                  “Of course.  It’s always good to see you, Thorin.”

                  “You too, Mister Baggins.”  Thorin went to walk away but stopped and turned back. “See you at check-out.”

                  “Right.”

                  Thorin had turned but Bilbo’s voice stopped him. “By the way …”

                  “Yeah?”

                  Bilbo pointed to Thorin’s face.  “The beard looks good on you.”

                  Thorin’s checks turned a pale pink.  “Thanks.”

                  Bilbo continued on his way but he felt light and happy; Thorin was such a nice guy, and very bright; Bilbo truly felt awful when Thorin had failed his class the first go-around.  But it was always uplifting to hear that even his former students appreciated him.  And Thorin had been such a wonderful student.

                  He finished shopping quickly and made his way to the front.  Sure enough, Thorin was back at his post behind one of the registers, a grin on his face.  He really was so charming!   Bilbo got in Thorin’s line, even though he only had a few items and could have used the express lane; Thorin was much quicker.

                  “Did you find everything?” Thorin asked, scanning Bilbo’s items.

                  “I did,” Bilbo said, then quipped, “Of course, if I hadn’t, my grandmother would be mortified and probably order it and have it delivered to my house!”

                  Thorin laughed.  “You’re probably right!”  Thorin finished up and started bagging.  “That will be thirty-two fifty.”

                  Bilbo shook his head as he got out his money. “I’d say that food gets more expensive every week, but I’d only end up sounding like my dad.”  Thorin laughed as Bilbo handed him thirty-five quid and got his change in a thrice.  “Thank you.” Bilbo gathered his bags.  “Have a good day, and behave!”  Thorin laughed again and for some reason that Bilbo could not say the sound was warming to him.

                  However, Bilbo was in the car-park, half-way to his car, when a shout stopped him.

                  “MISTER BAGGINS!”

                  Bilbo turned and saw Thorin running towards him. “What’s the matter?  Did I forget something?”

                  Thorin ran up, a little out of breath.  “I wanted to … to ask you something.”

                  “Oh ...” Bilbo was a bit confused but curious. “Okay.”

                  “Um …” Thorin cleared his throat.  “I was wondering if … um … would you mind, and … and you’re not obligated or anything like that … really … I mean, you must feel free to say no if you don’t want to, I won’t be angry or anything, but … um—”

                  Bilbo laughed.  “Thorin!  Just ask me.”

                  “Would … would you consider, um … you know … tutoring me?”

 

\-----ooooo-----

 

                  He’d never forget the day he first saw Mister Bilbo Baggins.

                  He’d just started his last year of school. One more year, then he’d be in university and start spending more time with his dad at the office; he was excited!  But it was also the year that his little sister started secondary.  So, since the first week back was usually crazy, Thorin decided to have lunch with Dis on that first Friday.

                  As he rounded the corner, he saw Dis halfway down the hall, talking with an older student.  He’d never seen the guy before but he thought him rather adorable with his honey curls, round specs, cheeky bowtie, and cardigan.  He looked like a kid that was wearing his dad’s clothes! Yet it worked and Thorin was little struck; his heart even skipped a little beat.   The guy said something that made Dis laugh, then they made their good-byes and walked in separate directions; Dis coming right towards Thorin and the guy ducking into the nearest classroom.

                  “DIS!” Thorin shouted to get her attention.

                  Dis looked up and smiled.  She came up to her brother and gave him a hug.  “What’s going on?”

                  “I thought I’d go to lunch with you.”

                  “Are you buying?”

                  Thorin laughed.  “Of course.”

                  “Then I accept!”

                  As they made their way to the dining hall, and Dis complained about the ‘insipid girls’ she had to deal with. “All they do is talk about their nails or hair and fantasize about being the next Victoria Beckham!”

                  Thorin smirked.  “All this from the girl who has more clothes than the rest of her family combined!”

                  Dis gave Thorin a narrow, sideways glare. “There is a _vast difference_ between wanting to dress nicely and having one's entire world revolve around the latest Prada handbag!”

                  Thorin laughed at that; he couldn’t argue with that.

                  “Anyway,” Dis said with a toss of her Chestnut hair. “I saw they are already starting to organize math and science clubs.  I think I will join one of those and met people with a brain to talk to.”

                  Thorin took the opportunity to do a little digging. “Is that why you were chatting with that bloke?”

                  Dis looked confused.  “What ... _bloke_?”

                  “The curly-haired guy.”

                  “You mean _Mister Baggins_?”

                  Thorin rolled his eyes.  “Just because he’s in six-form doesn’t mean you have to call him ‘mister.’”

                  Dis laughed.  “He’s not in school you idiot!”

                  “No?”

                  “No!  He’s _teaches_ school!”

                  Thorin stopped dead in his tracks.  “ _He’s a teacher_?!”

                  Dis nodded.  “Bilbo Baggins.  He teaches Ancient History.”

                  Thorin couldn’t believe it.  “He looked so ... _young_!”

                  “Well, he’s not _old_!  Someone asked him yesterday and he said he graduated a few years ago.”

                  _Only a few years ago._   Thorin thought quickly.  _Mid-twenties then?_ “Where’s he been since graduating?”

                  “He said he started out in a primary school up north and then transferred this year when one of the old teachers retired.”

                  Thorin vaguely remembered hearing last year that one of the teachers, a Mister Brown, was leaving.  “So ... do you ... like Mister Baggins?”

                  “Oh my, God!”  Dis got quite excited.  “He’s brilliant!  He’s so clever and funny!  I really love his class and it goes by so quick!”

                  He didn’t remember much about lunch.  Dis went on about classes, her hope for the new clubs she wanted to join, and some of the kids she did like.  But Thorin couldn’t stop thinking about Bilbo Baggins.

                  Who was he? 

                  How did he get here?

                  What was he like to talk to? 

                  Thorin hadn’t ever been interested in anyone before. What made Bilbo Baggins so special that Thorin couldn’t get him off his brain? 

                  Thorin made every excuse he could, to himself, to be near Bilbo Baggins.  He strolled down the hall past Bilbo’s classroom, pretended he needed to be there. He secretly followed Bilbo around whenever Bilbo ventured to other areas of the school.  Made sure to sit near where Bilbo was standing when Bilbo watched over the dining hall with another teacher.  Thorin even waited after school until he could discreetly watch and find out which car he drove; a late-sixties, mint-green Vauxhall Viva HB.  Thorin even rode his motorcycle, a restored Norton, a gift from his Uncle Fundin, so that he could find out where Bilbo lived.

                  He was wrong on so many levels and Thorin knew it. He was practically stalking the curly-haired teacher.  He was invading Bilbo’s privacy.  He was crossing a line.  But Thorin realized one grey, November day why.

                  He was falling for Bilbo Baggins.

                  It was crazy!  He’d never spent a minute in the man’s company!   Only watched from afar.  Only eavesdropped for seconds or minutes on conversations when he’d by chance been close enough to even hear words.

                  But Bilbo filled Thorin’s brain, his thoughts, and eventually even his dreams.  (Thorin never admit out loud to a single soul what he did when he woke in the night after having rather ... _vivid_ dreams of Bilbo).

                  No one knew how he felt.

                  But someone did figure it out; his cousin Dwalin.  Of all people.

“What’s wrong with you lately?” Dwalin demanded one afternoon after classes were for the day.

                  Thorin froze still.  “What are you talking about?”

                  “Don’t give me that crap,” Dwalin said, rolling his eyes.  “I know you. You’re mooning over someone.”

                  “You’re mental,” Thorin spat out and tried to move on but Dwalin’s strong grip on his arm stopped him.

                  “You’ve been hanging out, waiting for Dis at a certain time of the day.”

                  “You’re wrong.”

                  “Hanging outside a particular class.”

                  Thorin wasn’t sure what to say.

                  “And then I noticed that on certain days you sit in the dining hall ... very near where the teachers stand to watch—”

                  Thorin’s throat went dry.

                  “—at least ... when a certain ... history teacher is there.”

                  Thorin swallowed.

                  “A history teacher ... who teaches that class you hang outside of, with the excuse of waiting for your little sister.”

                  “Piss off!” Thorin threw Dwalin a heated glare but that only made Dwalin smirk.

                  “Keep your shirt on!”  Dwalin chuckled. “I’ve not told anyone.  I just can’t believe you have a crush on ... Mister Baggins!”

                  Now Thorin was really angry.  “Fuck you!  Crush is insulting to how I fe—” _Shit._  Thorin hadn’t meant to give that much a way.

                  “‘ _How you feel_?!’  You can’t be seriously telling you feel something for him!”

                  “What do you care if I have feelings for someone?!”

                  “It’s not about your feelings, it’s ... I mean, Mister Baggins is ... old!”

                  “He’s not old!  He’s _only_ twenty-six!” Thanks to a bit of Internet snooping, Thorin had found out Bilbo’s birthday.

                  “And you’re _only_ nineteen!”

                  “So what?!  What does that matter?!”

                  “It’s matters because you’re a fool if you think he’d go for some kid!”

                  “I’m not a fucking kid!”

                  “You’re a student!  That’s close enough!”

                  Thorin didn’t want to hear any more.  “Leave me alone.”  Thorin went to walk away but Dwalin stopped him.

                  “Look,” Dwalin turned uncharacteristically serious. “I’m not trying to make you mad or piss you off.  I swear. And I’m not going to tell anyone. But you can’t go on with this.”

                  Thorin wasn’t buying it.  “It’s my life—”

                  “I don’t want to see you get into trouble. Or worse.  Hurt.”

                  Thorin appreciated Dwalin’s concern and he told his cousin as much.  But it was too late by then.  And Thorin knew it.  He’d rather be hurt by Bilbo than never try for something more, something better. Something other than pining.

                  So, after returning from Christmas Holiday, Thorin took Ancient History with Mister Bilbo Baggins.

                  That first day in class, Thorin took a seat in the back and could only watch.  Bilbo moved about and was so animated and engaging, Thorin had never been so intrigued by a teacher in his life!   Soon, Thorin settled and he’d just listen to Bilbo go on and on, drinking in the sound of his voice, the highs, and lows, letting it wash over him.  Sometimes, Thorin would close his eyes and imagine Bilbo whispering in his ear, telling him intimate things, calling him endearments, sharing secrets, and whispering Thorin’s name so close that Thorin would have sworn he felt Bilbo's breath across his earlobe.

                  “MISTER DURIN!”

                  Thorin startled out of one of his stupors to find that Bilbo was standing still at the front of the class, arms folded, a raised eyebrow on his beautiful face and all the rest of the students looking over their shoulders, smirking at Thorin.

                  “I certainly hope I’m not keeping you awake, Mister Durin.”  Bilbo quipped in a rather saccharine voice.

                  Some kids snickered and Thorin felt his face warm. “Ah ... no, sir.  I ... I was just ...”

                  “Dozing off.”

                  “Ah ... thinking about what you said.”

                  “Really?”  Bilbo asked dryly.  “And what was it I said, exactly.”

                  Thorin turned redder and a few more people laughed. He could’ve described Bilbo voice in great detail but had no clue what Bilbo had said.

                  And Bilbo knew it.

                  “In the future,” Bilbo said, evenly, “If you find you can’t stay awake, may I suggest you go ahead and lay down on the floor ... that way, you won’t fall out of your chair and thus ... disturb everyone else.”

                  The room erupted in laughter and, although he was now bright red, Thorin couldn’t help but smile in his embarrassment; it was a funny joke.  “I’ll ... I’ll pay better attention, sir.”

                  “Good.” Bilbo gave him another cocked eyebrow and there was a smile playing around Bilbo’s mouth.

                  Thorin had promised.  And he meant it.  He really did.  Yet it was hard in those early days for him to concentrate on anything but the way Bilbo’s mouth moved when he spoke, or smiled, or cracked a joke, or the way Bilbo’s hands moved, or the way his hair caught the light when he turned this way or that.

                  However, Thorin’s behavior didn’t go unnoticed.

                  They were midway through the course, when, as Thorin and the rest of the class were gathering their books and bags, Bilbo’s voice stopped Thorin in his tracks.

                  “Mister Durin.”

                  Thorin turned and saw Bilbo wave him over to the front of the class.  Like a moth to a flame, Thorin went directly.  “Yes, Mister Baggins.”

                  “I’m concerned.”

                  Thorin swallowed; nervous.  “About?”

                  Bilbo motioned for Thorin to take a seat near the Bilbo’s desk, which he took, and Bilbo sat down behind his desk.  Bilbo took a breath, clenched his hands on his desk, and sighed.  “Mister Durin ... you’re failing this class.”

                  Thorin had never failed a class in his life. Never. Yet, Thorin didn’t really care about that.  What he cared about was the sad, almost hurt look on Bilbo’s face that tore at him.  “I’m ... sorry, Mister Baggins.”

                  Bilbo shook his head.  “It’s me that should be sorry.  I’ve failed to ...”

                  “It’s not you!”  well, it was sort of, but not in the way Thorin was sure Bilbo meant it. “I’m just ... distracted and ... everything.”

                  “You are an excellent student.  All your other teachers say you are brilliant.”

                  Thorin was amazed.  “You ... talked to the other teachers?  About me?”  Bilbo Baggins actually thought of him when he wasn’t around!  Thorin was thrilled!

                  Bilbo nodded.  “I wanted to see if ... if it was you ... or me that was failing.”

                  “I swear!  It’s not you, it’s—”

                  “This is your last year.  Your last semester.  Why in the world did you take an elective that you had no prior experience with or ... interest in before?”

                  “I ...” _Wanted to see you.  To know you. To be close to you._   “... thought it would be interesting.”

                  “I don’t know how interesting it is when the teacher can’t reach you.”

                  _You have no idea how much you reach me, deep in my brain and soul, you reach me._   “I’ll ... try better.  I swear.”

                  “Thorin.  You’d have to get top marks ... a hundred percent, on every quiz and test ... including the final, for you to even be close to breaking even in this class.”

                  “I can do it!”

                  “I worry ... not at your intelligence, mind, but your ... your past scores do not give me confidence, despite your determination.”

                  _I’m determined to make you happy._   “Don’t worry, Mister Baggins.”

                  Bilbo smiled at that.   “Asking me not to worry about your future, is asking too much.”

                  Thorin knew that Bilbo would say the same about any student, that Bilbo cared what happened to those in his charge, but Thorin was still thrilled in some small part of his heart that Bilbo had made it sound like it had been meant for Thorin alone.  “That’s ... that’s great to hear.”

                  “I just hope that if ... if the worst happens,” Bilbo said discreetly, “that it won’t affect your getting into university.”

                  Thorin had already thought about that.  A fail in one class at this point would have almost no effect.  “It won’t. Trust me,” Thorin said as he got up, shouldered his pack and made to leave.

                  Bilbo relaxed, commenting to Thorin’s retreating back, “Thank goodness.  I’d hate to have to think of you taking it during the summer.”

                  Thorin stopped.  _There is a summer class?_   He could see Bilbo for a bit more time?!  He already didn’t want to think about the last day of six-form and having to say good-bye to Bilbo, but now – was there hope?  He turned and looked at Bilbo.  “You ... you teach a summer class?”

                  “Yes, but ... I’d hate thinking of you taking it!” Bilbo shook his head.  “It’s your last year.  You should be enjoying your summer and having fun before starting university and your life.”

                  “Well, if I have to take it ... I’ll be fine.”

                  “But—”

                  “I have to run, Mister Baggins, but ... don’t worry!”  Thorin smiled and nearly danced out the door.  “Really!  It’ll be great!”

                  Thorin had a plan!

                  He made every ‘effort’ to pass, but sadly, Thorin didn’t quite pass every quiz and test from that point to the end of the year. Which was perfectly terrific!  His parents were disappointed and bewildered but, is mother soothed his father’s nerves.  She gave the perfect excuse and come the start of summer classes, Thorin was ready.  He aced every quiz.  Tested top on each test.  It wasn’t that he didn’t know history at all and couldn’t have done well, to begin with, but he wanted to really impress himself onto Bilbo and when the summer course ended and Thorin achieved a perfect score on his final, Bilbo was beside himself.

                  “Congratulations, Thorin!” Bilbo said after the last class. He didn’t normally do it, but Bilbo had discreetly asked Thorin to stay when the final was over and Bilbo secretly graded Thorin’s paper before by the time everyone had finished and left.

                  Thorin was in heaven.   “Thanks, Mister Baggins!”

                  “You worked very hard and you deserve this grade!”

                  “It’s all because of you.”

                  “I don’t think so.   You did the work.”

                  “But you are my teacher.”

                  “Well ... I thank you.  But you did good and I wish I had the words to say how proud I am of you!”

                  _And I wish I had the courage to tell you that you are everything to me._   “Me too.”

                  They walked out together to the car-park, and Bilbo asked, “Are you staying close for university?”

                  Thorin nodded.  “I’m going to Erebor.  My whole family has gone there.”

                  “Oh, nice!  I know some teachers there.”

                  They’d reached the park and turned to each other. “Well ...” Bilbo said smiling, breaking the silence.  “I wish you all the best.”  He held out his hand for Thorin to shake.  “Good luck.”

                  Thorin held Bilbo’s hand and so much passed in his mind.  “I can’t ...” He couldn’t let go.  He didn’t want to it to end.  He didn’t want to say good-bye.  He wanted to hold Bilbo’s hand properly, he wanted to take Bilbo into his arms and hug him, he wanted to whisper his feelings in Bilbo’s ear.  He wanted so much more.  But before Bilbo got suspicious, Thorin gently, slowly shook Bilbo’s hand.  “... I’ll never forget you.  And what you’ve ... done ... for me.”

                  Bilbo laughed one of his bright laughs that actually made Thorin a little sadder.  “I don’t think I’ve done anything for you, but you are welcome none the less!”

                  “Oh, but ... you did.”

                  Bilbo squeezed Thorin’s hand and smiled.  What more could there be said?

                  “Well ...” Bilbo sighed and Thorin finally released his hand.  “Good-bye, Thorin.”

                  “Goo ... good-bye.”

                  Thorin stood there, dying inside, as Bilbo turned and walked away.  He watched Bilbo’s Vauxhall drive off and he walked to his cycle like a man walking to the gallows.  What was he to do now?  How could he see Bilbo again?  He couldn’t very well just show up on Bilbo’s doorstep, with an ‘ _I was just passing by_!’  He wasn't supposed to know where Bilbo lived and, besides, it would be wildly inappropriate; Bilbo would be less than pleased.  And it wasn’t like Thorin had an excuse to go back to school!   Thorin sat on his bike for ages, dismissing ridiculous idea after ridiculous idea, feeling bleaker and bleaker by the minute.

                  Thorin guessed it was just over now.  He’d go to university, be alone, pine in vain and eventually just get a job and get on with his—

                  _A JOB!_

                  That was it!  He remembered from following Bilbo around that Bilbo often stopped by a certain grocery store, Took’s, on his way home from school!  Thorin could try and get a job there!  Then he’d ‘run into’ Bilbo ‘by accident!’  _But where would that get you_ , the voice of his conscience asked. _Who cares or knows,_ he thought _. I’ll figure it out!_

Again, his father was perplexed and Thorin suspected a bit hurt. But this was important!  Thorin sold himself the Tooks, who he gleefully found out were Bilbo’s grandparents and set out to be the best employee they had; if he could get some of Bilbo’s family to like him, so much the better!

                  Bilbo did indeed come in after school and Thorin gladly took his break whenever he noticed the time or saw Bilbo heading in from the car-park.  But that still wasn’t enough.

                  Until he hit upon another idea. 

                  Tutoring!   It was perfect!

\-----ooooo-----

 

                  Bilbo looked like he hadn't quite heard Thorin correctly.  “You want _me_ to tutor you?”

                  Thorin nodded.

                  “But ..." Bilbo chuckled, "why on earth wouldn’t you use one of the student tutors at university?”

                  “Well ...”  _Why couldn’t he?  Shit._   “Because, um ... well ... they don’t really ... _know me_.”

                  “But you could make friends with one or something.”

                  “They aren’t you.”  _No one is like you._ Thorin hoped his words were not written on his face.

                  Bilbo's cheeks turned a touch pink.  “That’s ... flattering, but—”

                  “I’m comfortable with you.”  Bilbo blushed a little deeper and Thorin’s heart sang.  “I want you ...” _In so many ways, I want you._ “... to help me.”

                  “Yes, but ... I teach six-form.  You’re at the university level now, and—”

                  “You had to take many of the same university classes that I have to take."

                  “True.”

                  “So you know  _exactly_ what I’m taking!  You can still help me!”

                  “Well ...”

                  “Please.”  Thorin flashed his most brilliant smile and wiggled his eyebrows, making Bilbo chuckle and shake his head.

                  Bilbo sighed and to Thorin’s delight, a tiny smile played on Bilbo’s lips.  “I should tell you that those baby-blues of yours don’t sway me in the least ... but ...”

                  Thorin's heart began to race.  “You’ll do it?!”

                  Bilbo gave in.  “Yes.  I’ll do it.”

                  “YES!”  Thorin almost fist-punched the air.

                  “But ... Tuesday and Saturday nights are my only available times.”

                  “I’ll take them!”

                  “Oh.”  Bilbo was surprised.  “I’d have thought you’d only want one day.”

                  Thorin swallowed.  “No! I mean ... what can I learn in just ... one night?”

                  “Well ... I can see that."

                  “And I’m glad to pay!  However much you want!”

                  Bilbo rolled his eyes.  “I am not _charging_ you!”

                  "If I'm going to burden you-"

                  Bilbo scoffed.  "It's not a burden, Thorin."

                  “I don’t mind paying!  Honest!"

                  “The answer is no," Bilbo said firmly.  "Or the deals off!”

                  Thorin threw up his hands.  "Okay!  Okay!  You win."

                  “Good.” Bilbo gave Thorin a pointed nod.  He got his way.  “I guess I’ll ... see you on this coming Saturday.”

                  _You bet you will!_ “Sure thing.”

                  “You can get my address from my grandmother.”

                  _No need on that score, but_ , “Sure. Thanks again, Mister Baggins!”

                  They each turned to go, but Bilbo’s voice stopped Thorin this time.  “And Thorin ...”

                  “Yeah?”

                  “Since I’m not _... technically_ your teacher and you’re not _officially_ my student anymore ... I think you can call me Bilbo.”

                  “Bilbo ...” Thorin was almost lightheaded. “I’ll see you on Saturday. Bilbo.”

                  Bilbo smiled and gave Thorin a wink.  “It’s a date.”  He got in the car, totally oblivious to Thorin’s gaping mouth at the word ‘date.’

                  Thorin waved good-bye, standing there waving until Bilbo’s car was nearly out of sight.  He had a date with Bilbo Baggins!  He had _a date_ , on _Saturday_ night, at Bilbo’s house, _with Bilbo Baggins_!

                  _So far so good._

                  It was only the next step in his plans.  He wasn’t sure how he was going to proceed, but as far as he was concerned, Bilbo was for him and he was for Bilbo and come Hell or high-water, he was going to make that happen!

 

 

 TBC


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

 

    

_**The styles of Erebor University** _

 

            Bilbo walked slowly across the campus of Erebor University and breathed in the cool autumn air.  Grey Georgian buildings from the late nineteenth century stood majestically beside the few unpainted concrete, Brutalist-style structures added during the mid-nineteen fifties.  But it was the few silver-glassed buildings, erected just in the last few years, and reflecting all the other building over their polished surfaces, that brought everything together into a visually, balanced blend.

            Some saw Erebor University as dull and stodgy but Bilbo had loved it during the short time he was a student during his first year.   Naturally, it was nothing at all like Rivendell Academy where he finished, with its white stone and delicate Gothic arches, but Erebor had a rather austere beauty that was still appealing.

            Bilbo had hated leaving Erebor all those years ago, but it could not be helped really.  And he had settled in and done well at Rivendell.  Bilbo had become friends with one of his professors, Doctor Gandalf Grey. 

            It was because of Gandalf, that Bilbo was even at Erebor that day.

            Bilbo had something of a mystery.

            At Rivendell, Doctor Grey taught what was considered _Romantic Humanities_ , which covered the Renaissance through the Eighteenth Century.   However, Gandalf’s true love was _Classical Humanities_ , which focused on the Greco-Roman period, which Gandalf now taught at Erebor.  Bilbo’s last year at Rivendell was to be Gandalf’s last year as well; he was ready to retire, he said.  But before the year was out, Erebor’s president had extended the good doctor the position of Department Head if Gandalf would come and build their Humanities program into a powerhouse.  At first Gandalf declined; he had no wish for a second career.  But a second offer came through, filled with promises and perks, and from what many of the rumors said, it was too good to pass up.

            Gandalf took the position.

            So, Bilbo graduated from Rivendell Academy, moved to Yorkshire and began his career as a teacher, while Gandalf went south and settled in at Erebor University.

            Funny enough, a few years later, when Gandalf’s good friend and fellow teacher, Mister Radagast Brown, had announced his retirement from the local six-form not far from Erebor, Gandalf had put forth Bilbo’s name as his replacement, bringing Bilbo back to the area.

            And Gandalf’s influence.

            Bilbo entered one of the new glass buildings and walked up to the third floor.  At the far end, in a corner that had a fantastic view of the quad, was Gandalf’s office.  A firm knock on the door got a quick response.

            “No appointment, no visitors!” Gandalf’s gruff.

            Bilbo rolled his eyes and smiled to himself, as he replied,  “Even very old friends?”

            A moment later the door opened and Gandalf’s surprise was worth it.  “Bilbo Baggins!”

            The taller man pulled Bilbo into a bear hug that nearly took Bilbo’s breath away!   But Bilbo laughed just the same.  “It’s good to see you, Gandalf!”

            “What brings you to see a simple old man on a such a beautiful Saturday morning?”  Gandalf asked, as they pulled apart and he urged Bilbo to come in and take a seat in the mess-filled room.  There were books and papers and objects and sculptures everywhere; a great visual cacophony of the ancient.  Bilbo loved it.

            “Simple my arse!”  Bilbo said as he sat in the visitor’s chair, placing his messenger bag at his feet.

            Gandalf laughed.  “Maybe not.”

            “And what makes you think you something brought me here?”  Bilbo quipped.  “Can’t I come for a simple visit?”

            “As you say, simple my arse!”

            Bilbo snickered.  “You’re right.  Of course.”

            “Of course.”

            “I have a ... sort of a mystery,” Bilbo said as he reached down and pulled a book out of his bag.  “I found this book on my bookcase.”

            Gandalf smirked, saying dryly, “ A book on a bookcase. Yes, very mysterious.”

            Bilbo ignored the snarky retort.  “A regular book, no.  But this book ...” he held it out to Gandalf; a faded, worn but useable copy of Plutarch’s _Moralia_. “Is yours.”

            “Mine?”

            “I don’t how long I’ve had it, nor even remember borrowing, to be honest.  I was cleaning the other day, and when I went to put away some of my other books, I discovered it!”

            Gandalf took the book and looked at it for a few long minutes, very confused.  “But you didn’t borrow this.”

            “Well ... I must have!”

            Gandalf shook his head.  “No.  I leant this book _last year_ to a student.  He claimed to have lost it.”

            “But that can’t be!”

            Gandalf shrugged.  “I have no doubt about it.” 

            It made no sense.  “You must have lent him a different one.  A different copy.”

            Gandalf shook his head again.  “This was given to me years ago by a very dear friend.”  He held up the book in his hand, the front cover open showing a handwritten inscription.  “I have never lent it out until last year.”

            Bilbo almost scoffed at that.  “I remember you lending it to me when I was Rivendell.”

            Gandalf once more shook his head.  “I lent a copy.  Not this one.  I used to have many copies, ones I had bought second hand or found or were given, and those I used to lend to gifted students.  But this one?  Never.” Gandalf put the book down and reach over to a stack of books next to him, pulling out a brand-new copy of _Moralia_. “I was, naturally upset when it went missing, but ... he was very remorseful and bought me a replacement.”  Gandalf gave Bilbo a narrowed looked. “Do you know Thorin Durin?”

            Bilbo almost smacked himself in the head.  “Oh my, God!  Of course ... Thorin!  I should have realized!”

            “How do _you_ know him?”

            “I had him as a student in his last year at six-form, but I’ve been tutoring him twice a week since he started university.”

            “Tutoring?”

            Bilbo felt rather foolish.  “Clearly he left it or dropped it at my house at some point—”

            “Why are you tutoring him?

            “—and I put it away on my shelf when I tidied, not realizing.”  Bilbo shook his head.  “I feel like an idiot for not having put it together beforehand!”

            Gandalf cocked an eyebrow.  “You didn’t answer my question.”

            “I told you.  He was my student—”

            “ _Why you are tutoring him_!”

            Bilbo shrugged.  “He asked me a short while after he started last year.”

            “He asked you to tutor him?”

            Bilbo nodded.  “Twice a week.  Said he felt more comfortable with me than with the student tutors.”

            “And you did this all last year?”

            “And this year.”

            Gandalf huffed out a laugh.  “I don’t know why in the world he’d ask you.”

            Bilbo gawped at that.  “I’m not stupid!  I passed it your classes myself, thank you very much!  I just had no idea _you_ were his teacher.”  Adding, with a cheeky smile, “No wonder he felt lost.”

            Gandalf didn’t laugh.  “This is not about your intelligence!  What I meant was, I can’t imagine Thorin Durin being lost in Humanities.”

            “You can be rather intimidating to your students, you know.”

            “Maybe, but Thorin Durin could teach Humanities!”

             Bilbo didn’t get the joke.  “What?”

            Gandalf nodded.  “The whole reason why I lent him Plutarch was that during class, Thorin would make connections between ideas and concepts that even I hadn’t thought of before.”

            “Thorin?”

            Gandalf nodded most seriously.

            “He’s really that ...?”

            “Astute.”

            Bilbo never believed Thorin was stupid or clueless; quite the opposite.  But he also never believed that Thorin was ‘wired’ for history.  Thorin was a classic ‘Left Brainer.’  Math, science, statistics, logical, analytical, methodical, that was Thorin all day long; when he had a problem he worked out the variables before he’d even begin.  But ... “But if he’s so good,” Bilbo asked. “Why in the world would he need me to tutor him?”

            “That’s my point,” Gandalf said, then shrugged, giving Bilbo his own cheeky smile. “Maybe he likes you.”

            Bilbo rolled his eyes.  “He’s got friends his own age!  Certainly, he—”

            “I didn’t say as friends.”

            It took a few long seconds before Bilbo got there. “Oh, don’t be ridiculous!”

            “Why is it ridiculous?”         

            “Well, he’s just ...”

            “He is no boy,” Gandalf said, guessing where Bilbo was going.  “And you are not old.   You are both attractive young men.”

            “He is, yes.  But I'm ...”

            “You are still handsome.”

            “We are nothing alike!”

            “Opposites attract as they say.”

            Bilbo huffed.  “I’m twenty-eight!”

            “And he’s in his early twenties,” Gandalf said.

            Bilbo wasn’t having it.  “He’s too young!”

            “He’s an adult.”

            “He was my student!”          

            “ _‘Was’_ being the optimal word.”

            “It would be ... wrong!”

            “Were he underage, I would agree.  But he isn’t and ... if I did the math in my head right, he wasn’t when you met him either.  And there are no laws saying a former teacher and a former student cannot have a relationship once the student is no longer under the care of the teacher and is a grown-man.”  Gandalf winked at Bilbo.  “And Thorin is very much a grown-man.”

            Bilbo looked ready to argue, but then instantly switched gears.  “I have to go.”  Bilbo was almost out the door when Gandalf stopped him.

            “Bilbo,” Gandalf held Bilbo’s arm fast.  “Please.  I don’t say these things to upset you or tease you.”

            Bilbo was uncomfortable and that made him insolent. “Don’t you?  Like you always do?”

            Gandalf turned serious.  “I’m sorry.  That wasn’t my intention.”

            “You’re wrong about him and me.”

            “You’re right,” Gandalf said, conceding for a moment, before adding, “That is a possibly and I can’t deny that.  But don’t you find it more than curious that he asked you to tutor him on a subject he needs no assistance with, comes to your house twice a week ... alone ... just the two of you ... it’s almost intimate ... and yet there is no logical reason for it?  At least ... until one factors in attraction?”

            “You’re wrong!” Bilbo insisted, almost panicked. “It’s ... I mean, we’re just ...” Bilbo took a breath and turned a pointed look at Gandalf.  “We have an academic relationship and _that is it!_ ”

            Bilbo hurried away.  He didn’t look back and therefore didn’t see Gandalf sigh nor had any idea that Gandalf picked up his phone and dialed a woman well known to them both.

 

\-----ooooo-----

 

            “You didn’t have to rush over here,” Primula Baggins said as she opened her front door to find her dear cousin there. 

            “I didn’t,” Bilbo answered as he came into the house.  “I got your text and was in the area, so ... I stopped.”

            “In the area?”  Prim led Bilbo into the kitchen.   “What brings you to this side of town?”  She started making some tea; Bilbo would want it.

            “An errand,” Bilbo said, sitting at the small breakfast table and setting his bag on the chair next to him.  “What’s up?”

            “Well ... I was wondering if you would do me a favor.”

            Bilbo smiled.  “Urgently watch Frodo tonight, so you and Drogo can have a date night?”

            Prim laughed.  “It’s not that urgent.  Next Saturday.”

            “What’s next Saturday?”     

            “One of Drogo’s co-workers is retiring and, rather than having some little to-do at the office, they want to take her out and make it really special.”

            “That’s nice!”

            Prim nodded.  “But it’s at a frightfully posh place and no-one’s bringing kids.”

            “Understandable.”

            “So ... would you?” Prim brought over the teabags, milk, and sugar and placed them on the table.

            “Watch Frodo next Saturday?”  Bilbo laughed as if the question was unneeded.  Which it was.  “Of course!”

            “You’re a love.  Thank you.”

            “Not a thing!  I adore having him over.”

            “And he adores you.”  There was a ‘click’, telling them the electric-kettle was done and Prim poured the hot water into the cups.   She sat down across from Bilbo and they each prepared their tea.  “So, how are things going?”

            Bilbo shrugged.  “Fine.  I feel far more comfortable this year than last.  I really have a feel for the school and the kids, so I think it will be a good year.”

            “No,” Prim said.  “I meant in your life, not work.”

            “Everything is fine.”

            “How are you _personally_ , though?”

            “What do you mean?”

            “With your love-life.”

            Bilbo nearly choked in his amusement.  “What love-life?”

            Prim looked at him oddly.  “Oh.  Are things ... over?”

            “Over?  There’s nothing to be over.”

            “So you aren’t dating that guy with the motorcycle anymore?”

            Now Bilbo nearly spat out his tea.  “Oh my, God!  Not you too!”

            “Not me too, what?”

            “Between you and Gandalf.”  Prim looked very confused, but Bilbo pushed on.  “Never mind ... where in the world did get the idea that Thorin and I were ...”  he couldn’t even bring himself to say it out loud.

            Prim put her cup down and shrugged.  “From Frodo.”

            Bilbo smirked.  “Oh, Prim.  You need to get out more if you're getting your gossip from your five-year-old son.”

            Prim smiled.  “Don’t knock my son’s gossip abilities!   He’s very observant.”

            “And very wrong.”

            Prim took a sip of her tea, put the cup down, drew a deep breath and yelled, “FRODO!”

            From the upstairs, came a small voice at a high level, “YEAH, MUMMY?”

            Bilbo was beside himself.  “What are you doing?  Don’t call him!”

            Prim shrugged.  “Why not?”  She drew another breath, and shouted,  “FRODO, HONEY!  COME SEE MUMMY!”

            Instantly there was the pounding of tiny feet on wooden floors above them and then the rapid patter of those same feet on the stairs. Moments later, a little blur of a boy bound into the kitchen, skidding to a halt when he caught sight of their guest.

            “UNCLE BILBO!”  Frodo threw himself into Bilbo’s arms.

            “Hello, sweetpea!” Bilbo pulled Frodo to him and covered his face in kisses, making Frodo giggle.

            “Mummy says I might go to your house next weekend!” Frodo said as Bilbo put the boy back down.

            “You are!”

            Frodo got very excited.  “Can we have pizza and ice cream?!”

            “Of course, we can,” Bilbo said as if the thought of having anything else would not even be considered.  He gave Prim a smirk, as she just sighed and rolled her eyes.

            Frodo leaned forward and whispered loudly, “Can I have pickles on my pizza?!”

            “Eww,” Prim said under her breath.

            “Absolutely!”  Bilbo said, emphatically.  Frodo had become obsessed with pickles lately; he wanted them on everything.  As long as Bilbo didn’t have to eat his pizza with pickles, he was good with it.

            “Can I stay over?!”  Frodo asked with wide-eyes.

            “Possibly,” Bilbo answered, smiling.  Prim and Drogo could well be out very late and Bilbo wouldn’t mind one bit of Frodo stayed until the next morning.

           Frodo was nearing a frenzy.  “And can I have waffles for breakfast?!”

            Bilbo laughed.  “You can have what ever you want, sweetie.”

            Frodo threw his fists into the air, yelling, “YEAH!” as he spun around, now fully pumped about the coming Saturday.

            Prim decided to go for the gold.  “I _wonder_ if Mister Thorin will be there?”

            Frodo gasped and spun back to Bilbo.  “Will he, Uncle Bilbo?!  Will he?!”

            Frodo had spent several Saturday nights over the last year with Bilbo.  That naturally meant that Frodo and Thorin had got to know each other.  Thorin and Bilbo would discuss humanities, and then Frodo would beg Thorin to stay.  Bilbo had made it clear that Thorin should feel no obligation to stay if he didn’t want to.  But Thorin always insisted he loved kids and, as long as he wasn’t bothering Bilbo, he’d be glad to stay.

            Bilbo was amused by the sight of Thorin, a towering, burly guy, laying on the floor either coloring or playing cars with Frodo, or them all ending up watching a movie together, Frodo on Thorin’s lap, sharing a huge bowl of popcorn – it was kind of a game as to which of them could out eat the other.  Bilbo had been warmed seeing Frodo and Thorin together.  Like a make-believe little family.

            Bilbo hadn’t realized that before.   _Oh, God!_

            Bilbo gave Prim a glare but she just smiled, sweetly. Bilbo cleared his throat and answered Frodo.  “I’m ... not sure.  He may have other plans.”

            “Are you getting married?” Frodo asked pointedly.

            Bilbo could feel his face warm and Prim’s smile grew smug.

            “Out of the mouth of babes,” Prim said softly as she took a sip of her tea.

            “Frodo ...” Bilbo laughed, feeling a little uncomfortable.  “Mister Thorin and I are ... we’re ... just friends.”

            Frodo tilted his head and looked from Bilbo to his mother and then back to his uncle, and shook his head.  “No, you’re not.”

            Prim gave Bilbo a quick look before smiling at Frodo, inquiring, “Why do you say that, honey?”

            “Because of the way he looks at Uncle Bilbo,” Frodo replied as if the answer was obvious to all with eyes.

            “The way he ...?” Bilbo asked, “When does _this_ happen?”

            Frodo shrugged a shoulder.  “When you aren’t looking, and ... he doesn’t think I’m watching.”

            “And how, exactly, does he look at Uncle Bilbo?” Prim wanted to know.

            “Like how Daddy looks at you when he thinks you don’t see him.”

            Both adults looked at each other, a little startled. Then Prim asked, “And how does Daddy look at Mummy?”

            Frodo looked at his uncle for a moment before turning to his mother.  “Like you’re special.  Like you’re the moon and stars.”  Frodo shrugged and shuffled his feet.  “Like ... like you’re everything.”

            Bilbo suddenly felt he couldn’t breathe.  “I have to go.”  He grabbed his bag and went to stand but Frodo stopped him.

            “Did I ... say something wrong?”  Frodo sounded very small and his voice had a wobble that Bilbo did not like at all.

            Bilbo instantly knelt and pulled Frodo into a tight hug.  “Not at all, sweetpea!”  He planted a kiss on the boy’s curly head.  “You did _nothing_ wrong.” 

            Frodo sniffled as Bilbo let him go.  But as Bilbo stood and was nearly out of the room, Frodo had another question that stopped Bilbo dead in his tracks.  “Are you mad at ... Mister Thorin?”

            Bilbo turned back around and he ... he didn’t know what to say.  He felt such a jumble of emotions that he couldn’t speak.

            But Prim did.

            “No, honey,” Prim stood from her chair, picked up her son, and put on him on her hip.  She looked at Bilbo and there was a soft, understanding smile her face.  “Uncle Bilbo isn’t _mad_ at Mister Thorin.”

            “I have to go.”  Bilbo turned and left; he couldn’t be there.

            But there was one place he had to be.

 

 

\-----ooooo-----

 

            “MUM!”

            Bilbo closed the door to his parent’s house, removing his shoes, and placed them along with his bag, by the front door.

            “MUM!  ARE YOU HOME?”

            From the back of the house, Bilbo heard the light but steady tread of his mother’s feet just before she came around the corner with a smile on her face.

            “Hello, darling!”  Belladonna Baggins gave her son a kiss on the cheek and the customary once-over.  However, once seeing he was physically okay she looked at his face and her smile fade a tad.  “What’s wrong?”

            “I ... I need to talk.  Is dad around?”           

            “He’s futzing about in his garden,” Belladonna answered with a wave towards the backyard.  “Why?  Do you need me to get him?”

            “No.”   Bilbo insisted.  “It’s you I really need to talk to.  I ... I hope I’m bothering you?”

            Belladonna gave Bilbo a raised eyebrow and a sharp look over the top of her specs.  “My precious boy comes to me in need, then dares to ask if he’s bothering me.”  She shook her as if Bilbo’s question was ridiculous; it was to her anyway.  “Do you want some tea or ... a nibble?”

            “No ... thank you.  I had tea at Prim’s.”

            “Then, do you want to settle in the front or the sunroom?”

            “The sunroom.”

 

_**Belladonna's Sunroom** _

 

            Bilbo’s father, Bungo, loved to be outside, in his garden, growing his vegetables and edible flowers; he prized his garden above all things, outside his family, of course.  Belladonna, on the other hand, had no desire to _‘sweat like a field hand’_ , preferring to pot garden inside.  Her sunroom was filled with miniature roses and varieties of ferns, along with a couple of lovely Fichus trees, and rather than a settee and wicker chairs, there was a large, round, grey-wood table and chairs.  She’d found the set at an estate sale; its former owner had left the pieces outside and allowed them to weather.  She’d bought the set home, cleaned it up, and placed it proud and center in the middle of the sunroom.

            “Now,” Belladonna said, pointing to one of the chairs. “Why not sit down and tell me your tale of woe.”

            Bilbo paused for a moment.  “What makes you think it’s about woe?”

            “Darling, good news is usually delivered by phone ... bad news in person.  You’re here and want to talk to me ... alone ... so naturally, you have a problem.” Belladonna again gave Bilbo a look that his question was ridiculous.  “Besides ... I’m a mother ... I know everything.”

            Bilbo drew a slow, deep breath and removed his glasses, palming his eyes; it was a bad habit he’d had since he was a boy. When he released his breath, he wasn’t sure where to begin.  Where does one start when it comes to something that they’d rather not discuss? What could he say to make it better or at least more palatable?  What could he say that would make the subject sound less ... pedophilia like?

            “I have this ...” Bilbo wasn’t sure what he should say, really.  “Friend. And he ...”

            “Has feelings for you that you are unsure of.”

            “What?!”  Was his mother a mind reader?  Then it hit him.  “Did Prim call you?!”

            Belladonna shook her head.  “Gandalf.”

            “Of course.” Bilbo threw his glasses onto the table and sat back.  “I should have known he’d not drop it, or resist the urge to meddle.  I should never have introduced you two.”

            Belladonna laughed.  “He didn’t tell me anything I hadn’t already heard.”

            “How do you—”

            “What’s important here,” Belladonna pointed out, “is what you feel.”

            Bilbo huffed.  “I ... I don’t know what I feel right now.”

            “That’s good.”

            “Is it?”

            Belladonna nodded.  “It means you haven’t dismissed the relationship out of hand.”

            “There is no relationship, Mum.”

            “I beg to differ.”  Then she shrugged.  “Or at least, there isn’t one that is acknowledged.  On either of your parts.”

            Bilbo groaned.  “He’s _a student_ of mine!”

            “He was.  Past tense.”

            “Now you _sound_ like Gandalf.”

            “Well, it’s true!”

            Bilbo raised an eyebrow.  “And you don’t think there is a question of morality in this?”

            Belladonna shook her head.  “Were he still your student and ... fifteen-years-old ... then, yes ... you and I would be having a very serious conversation about morality. But he isn’t either ... he is an _adult_ that happens to be a _former_ student.”

            “I bet Aunt Camellia would disagree,” Bilbo said quietly.

            Belladonna rolled her eyes.  “Please don’t bring the Sackville-Bagginses into this!  She is family and I love her, but Camellia’s Victorian ideals are closer to repression than morality!”  Bilbo went to say something but Belladonna stopped him.  “And don’t mention Lobelia either!”

            Bilbo huffed and sat back again, folding his arms across his chest.

            “What is the issue really?” Belladonna demanded. “Is it the age difference?”

            “He’s only twenty-one!”  Bilbo blurted out.

            Belladonna shrugged.  “So?”

            “He’s seven years younger than I am!”

            Again, Belladonna shrugged.   “Would you find it more acceptable if your ages were reversed?”

            Bilbo opened his mouth but nothing came out; he hadn’t thought about that.

            “If you were the younger one ...” Belladonna pushed on, “... now be honest ... if you were younger and he was older, would you even be having this conversation?”

            Bilbo felt warm and cold and lightheaded and nauseous, all at once.  He hadn’t even considered the question his mother asked and he wasn’t sure he wanted to ask it of himself.

            “I should go,” Bilbo said, reaching for his bag and standing up.

            “Of course,” Belladonna said, huffing out a sigh. “Run away like you do.”

            “Excuse me?!”

            Belladonna gave her son a pointed, leveled look. “You’re not deaf.  You heard me.”

            Bilbo growled out an indignant huff and sat back down, hard, tossing his bag back at his feet and crossing his arms.  “Wow.  Are you purposely being mean, or ... are you just on a roll?!”

            Belladonna smiled at her son’s childish behavior. “I’m your mother and I love you, but I am not going to candy-coat things.   Running away is your M.O. ... when there is something you don’t want to face, you run away.”

            “That is so not true!”

            “You think?” Belladonna said, softly.  “I have one word for you ... Hamfast.”

            Bilbo closed his eyes for a second.  “That’s different.”

            “His mother and I were convinced you two were more than friends,” Belladonna said, ignoring Bilbo.  “Neither of you ever said, of course, but you were inseparable. Closer than brothers, let alone friends. You defended each other and supported each other, slept over at the other’s house, spent every minute together. When it was time for university, you both went off to Erebor together.  We figured it would only be a matter of time.  But then ...”

            Bilbo sighed.  “But then he met Bell.”  Bell Goodchild was the sweetest, most caring, darling person Bilbo had ever met and Hamfast fell hard and fast.  So did Bell.

            Belladonna nodded.  “You were devastated.”

            “They were perfect for each other,” Bilbo said softly.  “And I was happy for him.  I still am.”

            “But you never told him how you felt and when Ham swore that he’d marry Bell someday, a _'sudden and out of the blue'_ offer came from Rivendell and you packed your bags and moved away.” 

            “I did get an offer.”

            “You applied for that offer.  You went looking for them, not the other way around. Don’t think I didn’t know.”

            “It’s water under the bridge.”

            “Maybe, but my point doesn’t end there.  When you got to Rivendell, you eventually fell in love _again_.  With that ... miner.”

            Bilbo rolled his eyes.  “Bofur was a Geologist!   He was going for his doctorate!  I’d have thought you’d be happy!”

            “I’d have been happy if he’d been an actual miner ... if he had treated you right that is!”

            “Mother ...”

            “And I’d like to take this opportunity to point out that he was older than you, by ... what ... five years?”

            Bilbo sighed.  “Six.”

            “ _Six_ years.  But you didn’t have a problem with your age difference because you were the younger one.”

            “That’s not—”

            “But the ... Rock Doctor broke your heart as well and, once again, you ran.”

            Bilbo deflated.

            “You went to Yorkshire ... where you knew no one ... and hid from the world, because you couldn’t stay near where Bofur was and you couldn’t come home, because—”

            “Mother, don’t!”

            “—Hamfast and Bell were expecting their first child, and you’d not gotten over him at that point.”

            Bilbo refused to get teary.  “You make me sound very pathetic and bitter.”

            “No.  You were hurt and miserable.  But my point ... in all this ... is that when you have emotions that you cannot handle or do not want to face, you clam up, stay silent, then run and hide.  Just like you’re doing now with Thorin.”

            Bilbo was not giving in.  “And you don’t think there is something morally ... _questionable_ , about a teacher having an affair with a younger, former student?”

            Belladonna didn’t answer, her gaze alone told Bilbo that he knew her answer already.

            Bilbo shook his now aching head.  “Frankly, this is all speculation.  There is no proof that Thorin even feels anything remotely romantic for me.”

            “Nothing stated aloud, no, but there is much evidence to speculate on.”

            “Gandalf’s assumptions are just that ... assumptions.”

            “Not when you take in your grandmother’s facts.”

            _His grandmother?_   “What?!”

            Belladonna nodded.  “I told you that Gandalf hadn’t told me anything I hadn’t already heard.” She shrugged a shoulder.  “My mother called me a few weeks ago about it.”

            “A few _weeks_?!”

            “Thorin has a brother, correct?”

            Bilbo nodded.  “Frerin.  He was a year behind Thorin.  He just graduated.”

            “Well ... Frerin ... came in while Thorin was taking his break, and they sat in the break-room.  They didn’t realize that Grandma was in the stockroom and could overhear them.”

            “And she didn’t make her presence known?”

            Belladonna shrugged as if to say, _What do you think?_

            “So, in other words, she was eavesdropping.”

            “Anyway,” Belladonna said, ignoring Bilbo’s remark. “She heard them talking and Frerin asked Thorin why he still wouldn’t come to work with their father.  From the tone, it sounded to her as if this was an ongoing question within the family.  Thorin said that he didn’t want anything heavy for work while he was in university.”

            Bilbo nodded; Thorin had said that to him too on occasion.

            “But Frerin pointed out that he worked with their father and that his schedule and times were kept very light and easy, and was perplexed why Thorin couldn’t have the same and still make more money than at a grocery store and demanded again why Thorin worked at _Took’s_.  Thorin grew defensive and told Frerin it was none of his business and to bud out of his _‘personal life’_... his words exactly.”

            “That ...” Bilbo cleared his throat, which was very dry suddenly.  “That doesn’t mean—”

            “Frerin took it that way,” Belladonna said with a small smile.  “He immediately demanded to know who _‘she was’_ and _‘does she work here.’_ Thorin got angry and told Frerin to go ... well, I’m not going to repeat what he said, but rest assure, your grandma relished using the F-word with me.  Frerin, though, only laughed and kept pushing, even telling Thorin to _‘sit down and relax’_ and demanding Thorin _‘at least tell me her name!’_ Thorin was so angry at that point, he blurted out that Frerin didn’t _‘need to know_ his  _name.’_ Frerin then shouted about ... _sacred poop_ , lets say ... obviously clearly more than surprised at Thorin’s declaration.”

            Bilbo shook his head and palmed his eyes.

            “Are _you_ surprised?”

            “No, not really,” Bilbo said angrily.  “I’m _upset_ that Frerin pushed Thorin like that!  Frerin’s a good kid but ... he takes teasing to the point of being vicious ... I have to wonder if he even realizes it.  But Thorin did not deserve to be cornered and outed that way!”

            Belladonna just smiled at Bilbo, like a cat with a canary.

            “What?”  What was Bilbo missing?

            Belladonna shook her head.  “Anyway,” Belladonna decided to move on.  “Thorin made empty threats ... least your grandma _hoped_ they were empty ... against Frerin’s life should Frerin go blabbing to their parents, who apparently do not know of Thorin’s orientation.  Frerin swore that he wouldn’t tell and sounded offended that Thorin would think he would.  But he kept pestering Thorin repeatedly for the name of Thorin’s _‘bit of stuff’_ only for Thorin to refuse, saying that he wouldn’t risk the man’s ‘ _reputation or his career.’_ ”

            _Oh, my._  That didn’t sound so easy to dismiss. But it still wasn’t proof.  “He could be talking of any number of people. Perhaps someone who works at his father’s office.”

            “Which Thorin hasn’t worked in for a long time.”

            “Or someone at university.”

            “Like who?  Another teacher?”

            “Maybe.  Or another student.”

            “Thorin said _career_.  That’s not a student.”

            Bilbo huffed.  “Well, it still doesn’t necessarily mean _me_!”

            “Grandma further told me,” Belladonna added, “that after the conversation she heard—”

            “Overheard.”

            “—she finally put two and two together and realized that Thorin watches the clock and takes his breaks just before or after you arrive at the store.”

            _Oh, crap!_  Bilbo did see Thorin, on his break, every time he went there and Thorin was working.  In fact, Thorin always sought Bilbo out, coming up to say hello and walk the isles with him for the short time Thorin was on break. 

            “Your grandmother also thinks Thorin may have gotten the job there for the sole purpose of seeing you.”

            Bilbo was done.  “I have to go.”  This time he was up and moving quickly, but once again, his mother’s voice stopped him.

            “Bilbo!” Belladonna came up behind him.  “You’re grown and I won’t tell you what to do.”

            “Aren’t you, now?”  Bilbo said, not turning to face her.  “Telling me what to do?”

            “No.  I’m merely telling you what I know.”

            “You’ve countered every concern I’ve had.”

            “Only to show that your concerns are hollow. What you do, though, is your choice.”

            “Mine.”  Bilbo shook his head.  He didn’t feel like he had a choice; backed into a corner more like.

            “I just want to say ... that you need to give it some careful thought before you walk away from this.”

            “Because you think I should say yes and give in.”

            “No. I never said that.  But ... to paraphrase my favorite show ... good men are not like buses; there won’t be another along in ten minutes time.”

            While Bilbo had to agree with that, he also thought, keeping with the metaphor, that just because a bus pulls up to the kerb, doesn’t mean one had to ride it.  Especially if it traveled a road to ruin.

 

\-----ooooo-----

 

            For the rest of the day, there was little else to think of.  Bilbo tried, of course, to put it out of his mind; he cleaned, he graded papers, he listened to music, he even tried to read for a bit.  But each thing he tried he gave up on because his mind continued to go back and forth.  All he could think of was Thorin.

            Thorin was young. 

            But Thorin wasn’t a child.

            Thorin had been his student.

            But Thorin had graduated.

            Thorin probably only thought of Bilbo as a friend. Nothing more.

            But that seemed unlikely given the evidence.

            Bilbo should walk away.  His mother seemed to think he would.

            But was that really what he wanted?  He did like Thorin; very much so.  Thorin was clever and funny and warm and caring. Bilbo was very comfortable in Thorin’s presence and was that a bad thing?   Was it a bad thing to have such a man in his life?

            No.

            But was it a good thing?  Bilbo couldn’t help but wonder how the world would view their relationship; people could be cruel and unfair.  Had Thorin been a girl, their relationship would still be viewed as unfavorable, but people wouldn’t be surprised and most would not care.  Hell, had Bilbo been an older woman and Thorin still a young man, many would think Thorin some kind of stud and he’d be applauded for ‘scoring’ with a cougar, or some such nonsense.   

            But Bilbo and Thorin were both men.  With seven years between them.  A former teacher and student.  Some would invent, and many would believe, rumors that Bilbo had probably seduced Thorin when they first met.  That they’d probably had sex when Thorin was in six-form, that one or both had used the other so that Bilbo could get in a young boy’s pants or that Thorin could get an easy grade.  People would talk about sexting, or fucking in the school’s car-park, or even in the classroom after school.  Their relationship would be reduced to a joke, or even be considered a police matter to be investigated.  Bilbo could lose his position or his career.  Thorin could lose his scholarship or be dogged for years to come.

            In the end, Bilbo resolved that it was best if he just ... ended it.

            Yes.  He should walk away.

            Bilbo had been so consumed by his thoughts, he had lost all track of the day or time.  Until a certain someone showed up, knocked once, and then walked in as he usually did; for his ‘tutoring session.’

            “I’m so sorry I’m late!” Thorin said, laughing as he came through the door.

            _Late?_  Bilbo glanced at the clock.  “Are you?”   _Oh, yes._   Thorin was normally here an hour before now.

            “I hadn’t planned to work at Took’s today,” Thorin said rapidly, not really hearing Bilbo.  “But, Missus T called—”

            _Missus T? Oh, right ... Grannie.  Of course._

            “—and told me that someone got sick and they were sending her home and would I _please_ come in and cover the end of her shift ... but what was supposed to be two hours ended up being three!”

            “I ... see.”  Now that Thorin was here, Bilbo was feeling the pressure.  How does one hurt another with good-bye?

            “I guess I should have known my day would end up mental!” Thorin said laughing again, throwing his beat up, book-filled rucksack at the foot of the couch.  “First, my little sister begged me to take her to meet some friends ... which I did ... even though, _I’m sure_ she only wants to show off!”

            “That was ...” Bilbo felt a little sick.  “... nice of you.”

            "I don't know about nice!"  Thorin rolled his eyes.  “Personally ... I think Dis loves showing _me off_!  Most of her friends are kinda ... you know, geeks and brainiacs ... and well ... she has a big brother with long hair and a motorcycle and ... she gets to show up, perched on the back of the bike, her hair flying, telling me to reeve the engine ... you know how she is—”

            “Yes.” How the hell was he to talk about something he ... _oh, God!_

            “—and so then, on the way back from dropping Dis off, the bike decides it would be a great time to act up, so I spent the afternoon fixing that ... and _that’s_ when Mrs. T called me ... crazy!”

            “Crazy.”  Bilbo was starting to feel a little panicky.

            “How was your day?” Thorin asked.

            Here it was.  Bilbo had a choice to basically sink or swim, advance or retreat.  And while he had a strong urge to avoid the subject, his mother’s words came back to him; he would not run away from this.  “Well ...,” Bilbo started as Thorin turned to remove his shoes and with his back turned, Bilbo continued.  “I ... had an errand to run.”

            “Oh?” Thorin said casually, tossing one shoe aside and moving to untie the other.  “What kind of errand?”

            “I went ... to Erebor.”

            “You were at uni?!”  Thorin turned back, a crooked smile on his face and slightly out of breath.  “What took you there?”

            “I ... I went to visit ... an old friend—”

            Thorin removed his leather jacket.

            “—to ... return something.”

            Thorin nodded again, the soft smile still on his handsome face.

            “A book,” Bilbo said quietly.  _Just say it!_  “A book ... that I hadn’t borrowed.”

            Thorin chuckled. “How can you _return_ a book you ... _didn’t_ borrow?”    

            _Say it!_  “It seems he lent it to someone else.”

            “But ...”  Thorin smirked in his confusion.  “That makes no sense.  How did  _you_ get it?”

            “He lent it to a ... student.”  _GO ON!_   “One who doesn’t need a tutor.”

            Thorin stood frozen.

            Bilbo drew a breath.  “According to _Doctor Grey_ —”

            Thorin swallowed.

            “—this student is so clever ... that he had little hesitation of lending this young man his cherished copy of Plutarch’s _Moralia_.”

            Thorin blinked.

            “Which found it’s way into my possession—”

            Thorin’s mouth opened but nothing came out.

            “—after  _you_ left it here.”

            Thorin only stared, his smile gone, silent.

            There was no turning back now.  “Why, Thorin?”

            “I ... I ... didn’t ...”

            Bilbo had to hear it.  “ _Tell me why_!”

            “I didn’t mean to ... to deceive you.”

            “This isn’t about deception or your ...,” Lie was such an ugly word and not one Bilbo would use against Thorin, “... fooling me!  I want to know the reason!   Why did you—”

            “I had to do something.”

            “ _For what reason_?!”

            “To be near you.”

            There it was.  With those few words, Thorin had all but confessed.  Bilbo turned away, he couldn’t look at Thorin at that moment and he wasn’t sure how or what to feel, his head swam with words and emotions. It was nearly overwhelming.  It was too much.  He shook his head.  “I don’t think we should see each other—”

            “Don’t send me away!”  Thorin blurted out.  “Please. I’ll ... we’ll ... never speak of again!”

            “Oh, Thorin.”  The idea would’ve been laughable had the situation been even remotely funny.  “How can we _not_?”

            “We’ll talk only of ... of the past, of history,” Thorin insisted.  “I’ll sit on the couch or the floor ... across the room from you.  I won’t ... ask for more.  We’ll discuss emperors and wars and philosophies.   We’ll talk of ... Rome and Athens and—”

            “ _Sparta_ , perhaps?”  Bilbo it was laced with a tad too much sarcasm, and Bilbo regretted saying it the moment he spoke.

            “Please don’t hate me,” Thorin begged, his voice thick.

            “Oh, GOD!”  Bilbo shook his head, but it would not clear.  “I don’t _hate_ you!  I could never _hate_ you!  I just ... don’t think ... _CHRIST!_ You’re my student!”

            “Was ... But not now!”

            “Was.  Is.  Used to be.  Do you think that _doesn’t_ make any difference?!”

            “It doesn’t to me!”

            “And so you think it won’t to others?!”  Bilbo spun around and huffed out a hollow laugh. “Do you honestly think society, or your family ... or _your fucking parents_ won’t care?!”

            “Their problems with us would be just that ... _their problem_!  We don’t have to let them be our problems!”

            “Oh, don’t disappoint me now, Thorin!  Don’t be naive!  They will _make it_ our problem ... every hour of every day, by their talk and gossip and ... assumptions!  Have you any idea what they will say?!”

            Thorin nodded.  “I’m not being naive.  They’ll ... call you cradle-robber, or say I’m fucking you for grades.”

            Bilbo turned away again; there was no lie in what Thorin said.

            “They’ll call me a rent-boy or ... some sort of ... tomcat, as they say in America.  They’ll talk of .. pedophilia.”

            “Stop.”  Bilbo couldn’t hear anymore.

            “But they’ll be wrong!  And I really don’t care what they’ll say!”

            “BUT I WILL!”  Bilbo shouted, turning back around.   “I can’t bear the thought of them ...”  But Bilbo now understood as he hadn’t before; this was not about him.  It never was.   “I can’t bear what they will do and say to you.”  Thorin stood there blinking, stunned, as Bilbo realized that all his fears were not for himself but for Thorin.  “They will laugh at you.  Jeer you. Point and ... make fun of you. They will call you horrible things and whisper lies about you behind your back and ... and I don’t know that I can live with myself if I’m the cause of that.”  Bilbo hung his head, the thought of Thorin judged and ridiculed made Bilbo sick.

            The silence rang in his ears and Bilbo was lost in it.

            But Thorin wasn’t.  “Bilbo ...” Thorin was but a foot away and Bilbo held his breath, stiffened, as two strong hands came to rest, gently, on his shoulders.  “I know you’re afraid.  But ... you have to believe me when I tell you, none of that matters.”

            Bilbo was afraid and he did care; he cared a great deal.  For Thorin. He couldn’t deny that any longer. And Thorin was a good ... _man_.  Thorin was a _grown man_.  Clearly, Thorin was no child and knew what lay before them. It was only Bilbo that was still unsure. Bilbo sighed, relaxed and Thorin took that moment to pull Bilbo to him and gently wrap his arms around Bilbo’s shoulders, holding him close.

            “All that matters,” Thorin said softly, “is what is between us.   And if you feel for me ... even a small amount of what I feel for you ... then we can take on the world.”

            Bilbo chuckled at that.  “And what is it you feel for me?”

            Thorin cupped Bilbo’s face with a tenderness that surprised Bilbo and tilted Bilbo’s face upward.  A warm, bearded kiss pressed against Bilbo’s forehead, then Thorin placed another on Bilbo’s right temple, and then his left cheek.  So gentle, so moving, Bilbo almost cried.

            Thorin lay his forehead against Bilbo’s, their noses touching like Eskimos, and Thorin whispered, “You know what I feel.”

            What doubts he had crumbed and he let his tears go. “Yes.  I think I do.”  Bilbo surrendered and he reached out, tugged slightly on Thorin’s shirt, and closed the distance between them.  As their lips met, the world around them faded away.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> this WILL continue ....


End file.
